


And These Bullshit Conversations Take What Little Air Is Left Inside My

by galacticmerkid



Category: The Green Mile (1999)
Genre: M/M, book-centric description, but thats only briefly mentioned, idk have fun reading i guess, innuendos, possibly the only fic for this ship that isn't smutty, post-Del
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 11:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15193874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticmerkid/pseuds/galacticmerkid
Summary: Wild Bill wants to talk to Percy. Percy just wants to relax.





	And These Bullshit Conversations Take What Little Air Is Left Inside My

Holding a conversation with one “Wild Bill” Wharton was not on Percy Wetmore’s list of favorite pastimes. In fact, he would rather allow some filthy animal to restyle his hair, his pride and joy, sticky slobber slowly making its way into his ears. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t get a choice.

See, it started when Paul took a break to relieve himself. Wild Bill saw this as an opportunity, pressing his face against the bars and smearing the grimy metal with grease. “Hey Purty Boy,” he called out, practically singing. When Percy continued to recline in his chair without so much as a glance of acknowledgement, he continued, louder. “Purty Boy, Percy, Purty Percy,” He dragged out each syllable, the words echoing down the hall. 

Percy growled, sitting up. “Goddamn it! What do you want?” His voice was laced with irritation. Dean and Brutal, who were on guard with him, exchanged glances but must have decided not to interfere.

“I just want to talk,” the prisoner drawled, mock innocence pooling in his widened blue eyes. They were pretty eyes (if you could ignore the fact there was always something not quite right behind them), and that manipulative sonuva bitch knew it. 

“You always talk anyway,” Percy scoffed. “You don’t need my permission.” He let his eyelids drop back down, inhaling the dry prison air through his nose.

“No, I want to talk to you.” When Percy dismissed him with a wave of his hand, not even bothering to open his eyes, Bill flew into a frenzy. He shook the bars like a deranged gorilla at the zoo, he hollered at the guard who had rejected him, threatening him with death and suffering. Percy shuddered, imagining bony fingers wrapped around his throat, cutting off his air supply; jagged nails cutting crescents into his milky skin. 

“Percy!” Dean barked. “Make yourself useful for once and shut this lunatic up!” When Percy’s hand crept around smooth mahogany, Dean snapped, “No, you dimwit! Just talk to him!”

Percy heaved a sigh, but pulled his chair in front of the unruly prisoner’s cell. He was careful to stay in the middle of the aisle, not willing to repeat past mistakes. As he sat, Wild Bill mirrored his pose, pulling his bed closer. The man outside of the bars raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“So, Purty Boy, you got the smell of roasted Del out of yer nose yet?” Wild Bill cackled, and the sound turned Percy’s stomach. He was out of his seat in an instant.   
“NO!” Wild Bill howled, his eyes animalistic. He fell off his bed, sinking to an almost comical pose, begging Percy to stay. “Wait, stay, I won’t mention him again, I promise!” He showed off a rotting, crooked grin. 

Dean glared at him, and Percy hesitantly perched on the chair. “Why do you call me that?” He frowned, ready to leave again.

Wild Bill laughed, slightly less grating than last time. “Purty Boy? Ain’t you seen yourself? You spend half the time here lookin’ in the mirror, so you shoulda. You’re a real soft-lookin’ boy, your cheeks, your hair… You’re like a girl!” It was true- Percy was all round edges, his face childish- a contrast to Wild Bill, the acne-pocked boy who was sharp, sharp, sharp. “Why, your hands are probably like a baby’s!” Though Dean and Brutal were trying their hardest to not look like they were paying attention, Percy could see them hiding laughter. 

While Percy was glaring at the other guards, a thin arm snaked through the bars and grabbed hold of one of Percy’s hands, pulling him down opposite Bill. With the two sitting cross-legged on the floor, they looked almost like children in grade school playing nursery games. Percy’s small, soft hands, just as Wild Bill had described them, were encased in Wild Bill’s long-fingered, well-calloused ones.

“I’d almost think you’ve never done a hard day’s work in your lifetime! I could easily take you in a fight, any time, any place.” Though the comment was casual, a shiver still ran down Percy’s spine, and he jerked his hands back. Wild Bill smirked. “And they’re so small! You know what they say about hand size…” 

Percy gaped, indignant, and Dean and Brutal practically fell over each other, laughing madly. His face turned red and he huffed, trying to come up with a threat, any threat. “Stop talking about my- ugh! No wonder you’re behind bars.”

Wild Bill’s smile curled and he looked Percy through his eyelashes. “Oh please, Purty Boy. I seen your face when you stepped on that mouse. You and me, we’re both sick fucks. Only difference is, you’re a sick fuck with money.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Percy hissed, and like that, the conversation was over. No amount of pleading would change that. He stood, taking his chair, and stomped down the aisle. He was so busy fuming he didn’t notice as he ran right into Paul, returning from taking a leak. 

Paul stood watching the shorter guard, before turning to Dean and Brutal. “What on Earth’s gotten into him?”

From his cell, Wild Bill called, “Not my pecker yet, sadly,” before collapsing into another fit of giggles.

**Author's Note:**

> My sister was complaining that all the fics for this ship are smut.
> 
> Also the title is lyrics from Awkward Conversations by The Front Bottoms. The song doesn't fit the fic, I was just really desperate for a title.


End file.
